


A Measure of Libation

by pillowpresident



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood Drinking, Crest Experiments (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/F, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Trauma mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillowpresident/pseuds/pillowpresident
Summary: The night before the march on Fhirdiad, a ritual older than Fódlan itself takes place.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 41





	A Measure of Libation

The stage was set. The Leicester Alliance was all but finished, the roads were unguarded, and the Kingdom had been decimated by the loss of Dimitri. The troops were ready in the makeshift barracks, the horses were loaded, and the blades had been well sharpened. Fhirdiad was one last march away; Rhea was waiting for them. There still remained one last preparation, however.

  
They had chosen the Star Terrace for the ritual; Edelgard had said she wanted to do it in full view of the sky, the wind, and the stars. She’d said she’d do anything to achieve her goal, but she refused to do it in a dark chamber deep within the monastery. The nature of it was horrible enough - she didn’t need it to be a full theatrical reproduction of her deepest traumas. A single torch provided light, its flames dancing with each breath of the wind. 

  
It had been a fluke that they had discovered this ritual. Linhardt had retreated into the annals of Garreg Mach’s library after Byleth’s disappearance, searching for anything that could potentially locate her. When that had failed, he had invaded the personal library of the former aide to the archbishop. There, he’d found all sorts of lost works - the ones on Crestology were only the tip of the iceberg. A bundle of runes, accompanied by extensive notes taken in a careful hand had practically fallen into his lap. The texts accompanying the strange symbols had said this was an ancient ritual, only performed between kings of consequence and dragons. Once those symbols had been decoded, Linhardt had said they were far older, going past recorded history. Edelgard had said it was a vile relic of religious fanatics; that wouldn’t stop her from using it, however. 

  
Hubert stepped forward out of the darkness, carrying a large chalice with both hands. Inlaid jade gems glowed despite the heavy clouds that blocked the light of the moon. Byleth couldn’t help but peek inside as Hubert drew close to where they stood. Her reflection stared back from the gilded surface, and she couldn’t help but frown. Green eyes where there should be blue, light where there should be dark - it unsettled her far more than it had all those years ago. 

  
“Professor.” 

  
Edelgard’s voice called her out of her reverie. She looked up to see her former student reaching her gloved palm out to her. Her crown of ram’s horns looked particularly heavy on this night, and all Byleth wanted to do was to ease some of that burden. She wasn’t certain why Edelgard had worn it, but the Emperor had insisted on the both of them wearing their full regalia. It wouldn’t be _proper_ otherwise, she’d claimed. Byleth didn’t care; she would have been happy to do this in nothing but her pajamas if she had to. Now instead she stood, not in the awkward billowing cape that Rhea had once forced her into, but a navy and white robe that Edelgard had sent for from Enbarr. Gold thread held it all together. It had been a rather opulent request to make so late in the war, but Edelgard had insisted - she should be allowed this singular indulgence. 

  
“Are you sure?” 

  
Unspoken sentiment hung heavy in the cool spring air. Sothis’ continued silence had been unbearable. No matter how deeply Byleth wanted to ask the goddess inside of her if this was the right choice, if these were even the right words, there was no response. She’d have to rely on gut instinct then, and as she looked down at Edelgard, she knew there was only one choice to be made. 

  
“I’m ready,” Byleth responded, giving a small nod. Edelgard sighed then, reaching within her cloak. A gleaming dagger was brought forth. 

  
“This chalice is already overflowing,” the Emperor muttered. Byleth raised an eyebrow, but before she could say anything, Edelgard was already stripping her glove off her fingers with her teeth. Blade dragged across palm, rending skin apart. Another scar, freshly opened, was added to the dozens knitted across pale flesh as Edelgard held her hand out over the chalice. 

  
“Payment for my crimes,” she whispered. The wound weeped, and blood pooled in the bottom of the cup. A sea foam reflection flushed scarlet. 

  
Byleth gave a sympathetic wince as the stream flowed. It was a superficial wound, not deep enough to sever tendon, but Byleth could hear in the way Edelgard’s breath hitched that something far deeper than skin had been cut within her, by her own hand no less.

  
Hubert, to his credit, didn’t react. His expression was neutral as he watched Edelgard bleed heavily; if Byleth listened closely, she could hear the man shuffling at his lord’s discomfort, but other than that, there was no change. It was a testament to his loyalty, no doubt. Byleth had expected him to object to this ritual, to perhaps claim it too risky, but once Edelgard had proposed it and Linhardt had laid out all the details, he had accepted it as if they had asked him to come along on a picnic by the lake. Indeed, Hubert had been more than helpful, even going as far as to take up the mantle of conduit. It was just as dangerous as being a participant, according to Linhardt, but that had seemed to make Hubert even more eager to fall into the role. Now, he looked to Byleth, giving her a little nod. She should continue then. The faster this was over with, the sooner they’d know if it worked. 

  
Byleth reached into her own pockets. There, she found a tiny flask, frigid against her fingertips. It had been her father’s once upon a time. She wondered how he’d feel about this; she’d have to beg forgiveness at his grave afterward, she supposed. She uncorked the flask and emptied its contents into the chalice, blending the two liquids. It reeked of alcohol, and was as red as the blood that had preceded it.

  
“For all those lost in this war,” the two women said together, giving each other uneasy glances. “And for those lives to follow.” Fhirdiad was destined to be a tragedy, no matter who prevailed.

  
Edelgard passed her the knife then, and Byleth mirrored the actions of her former student, letting her own blood mix in until it reached the lip of the chalice.

  
“I give the blood of the Beginning that you might be protected from the strife of the End.” 

  
“It’s still as red as mine,” she heard Edelgard murmur, and she looked up to see the Emperor staring at her with full conviction. “No matter what they’ve done to you, you’re still just as human as I am.” 

  
To Byleth, it sounded as if Edelgard was trying to convince herself of that more than anything. “Just as human as you are,” she repeated before turning to Hubert. 

  
“Its time,” she said, and Hubert began to let the words flow, more ancient even than the land they stood upon. The words were of a language older than Fódlan, predating even Sothis’ presence on this continent, and yet Byleth found herself drawn to the words, as if she’d dreamed of them long ago. It had been a miracle that they’d been preserved as well as they had, and even more so that Hubert had learned their pronunciations as effortlessly as any other spell. Linhardt’s influence had to have had a positive effect on that. He and Hubert had spent long hours with their heads together, pouring over journals so old they were written on animal vellum rather than paper. After stumbling upon them, Linhardt had researched for the better half of five years for these words and rituals - without Byleth, they had been useless, but on this windswept night, his hard work was finally going to pay off. 

  
The wine-dark liquid in the chalice bubbled, then frothed, and Byleth felt apprehension rise in her throat as the space where Hubert’s flesh met gold began to glow. She could feel the heat radiating from where she stood. To drop the chalice now would invite ruin beyond comprehension. Still, Hubert held steadfast, unwavering in his recitation. If he felt any pain, he hid it well.

  
Then, stillness. On the surface of the liquid glowed the Crest of Flames, twice formed. One had been inverted; it lay superimposed upon the other to create a whole new image. It was vibrant, ethereal even - beautiful, and yet it represented everything _wrong_. Byleth could see thousands of years of pain carved into those flowing lines, and she could see the anguish reflected in Edelgard’s eyes through her reflection in the liquid. No doubt the screams of her siblings were echoing in her former student’s mind as they stood, but Byleth repressed the urge to take Edelgard into her arms. There would be time enough for that _after_. 

  
Hubert finished speaking, and Byleth breathed deeply then, taking it all in. No matter how many hyacinths lined the walls of the terrace, their perfume could not rival that of the metallic scent of fresh blood, heavy on the night air. In front of her, Edelgard’s eyes hadn’t left the cup. She could see the almost imperceptible tremble in the Emperor’s hands as she reached out to take hold of the cup from Hubert. Still, the young woman’s expression was resolute as she tilted the cup towards Byleth. 

  
Closing her eyes, Byleth parted her lips. There was a gentle hand cradling the back of her head, and then the press of the chalice to her mouth. The metal was hot, and the liquid even hotter. It was bitter; like ash on the tongue almost, but Byleth forced herself to let it flow down her throat, drinking heavily. The time for hesitation had long passed. Then, it transformed. Heat blossomed into warmth, and acridity became saccharine sweet. It was just as the texts had said- the bitterness of strife would bloom into the sweetness of freedom, as long as one endured. 

  
Byleth had finished her portion. She felt no difference, aside from the lingering sensation of sweetness in her mouth. She gingerly pried the chalice from Edelgard’s hands, who was looking up at her with wonder painted across her pretty features. So, it had worked? Something had definitely changed for the better, judging by how brightly Edelgard was beaming at her. Byleth felt a rare smile erupt as she tipped the cup towards Edelgard’s lips. 

  
Wonder quickly morphed into a grimace, but just as quickly as it had shifted, it was gone. Edelgard’s cheeks were flushed as she stepped back, the chalice having been drained. 

  
“It’s done,” Hubert murmured, taking the chalice back from them. “What shall I have Linhardt do with this?”

  
“I don’t care,” Edelgard breathed, looking up at Byleth. Her violet eyes were shining; Byleth wondered if her own were that damp. “Look at you,” she whispered, and then her bare hand was on Byleth’s cheek, fingers reaching up to tangle in her wild tresses. 

  
Byleth looked at the chalice one last time, just as the full moon broke through the clouds and showered them in light. No one would have noticed, but her hair was just a shade darker, eyes just a little more pigmented.

  
“No matter what happens tomorrow, we shall be by each other’s side. This path may be bloody, but we walk it _together_.” 

  
Placing her own hand atop Edelgard’s, Byleth pressed her forehead to the Emperor’s. Another imperceptible change was present; she doubted even Hubert had noticed it. Byleth knew, however - Edelgard’s skin was that much more vibrant, the dark circles under her eyes a tad lighter; Those Who Slither In The Dark may have taken nearly everything from the woman in front of her, but Byleth had drawn a line in the sand at her life. Tomorrow, Rhea. The day after, they were coming after _them_ , hand in hand. 

  
“My life is your life,” Byleth said softly, the words ringing in her ears. “May the goddess keep us both.” She prayed that Sothis wouldn’t take too much of an offense to this. Lending her power to her daughter’s sworn enemy was one thing, but her very life force? 

  
“Dawn approaches,” Edelgard whispered. The moon was still high in the sky, but Byleth nodded anyway. A sudden desire flared up in her, but she tamped it down, stepping away. There would be time enough for that later. Still, she didn’t let go of Edelgard’s hand. 

  
“Let’s go, El.”

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to take a break from working on my novel and play in this universe for a bit. I'm still in the middle of my Crimson Flower replay, so if I created some anachronisms, whoops. 
> 
> The game gives Rhea's death too much credit in reverting Byleth to fully human. There's no reason her life should be tied to Byleth's and I will die on that hill lmfao. This is a much cooler and sexier method, if you will. Also cool and sexy is the fixing of the effect of crest experimentation on Edelgard's lifespan. 
> 
> Yes, the wedding parallels were intentional. 
> 
> Might do an epilogue after Fhirdiad, not sure.


End file.
